The Narrow Gates
by v2point0
Summary: Jimmy attends his wife's funeral and becomes conflicted about his future. Hinted Dean/Cas


I giggled at the combo of Jimmy Dean and 4x20. Clearly, I am easily amused.

**wordsmeetwings** prompt.

**Title**: The Narrow Gates  
**Author**: **v2point0**  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Characters/Pairings**: Jimmy, Dean; Dean/Jimmy (platonic, oops), implied Dean/Castiel  
**Prompt**: 16. Dean/Jimmy – Possession.  
**Spoilers**: Jimmy is a spoiler(-ish) character if you've not seen 4x20, _The Rapture_. This fic takes place in a type of AU of season five, mostly towards the end.  
**Word count**: 4815  
**Warnings**: Profanity, mild violence, mild sexuality, non-canon death, sensitive subject material (for religious people?), angst (which is by default)  
**Summary**: Jimmy attends his wife's funeral and becomes conflicted about his future.  
**Notes**: Aaaahhh there's some slight God slamming here, but don't take it personally. :'|

**Disclaimer**: Shit ain't mine, yo.

My bones are tired from all the tragedy in me.  
- Peter Krause

It was beautiful. As beautiful as any funeral could be, all things considered.

On a superficial level, there were flowers, so many flowers, those Amelia adored and those that were symbolic to the event. There were dozens of them, in wreaths strewn along the church and coffin, in bouquets lining the tables. Lilies, white roses, asters, carnations, delphiniums, ivory and pastels blooming in the cherry wood and candlelight. The coffin itself was opened and inside Amelia laid, beautiful and untouched as if death had never come to her. Her hands were crossed over her chest, over the golden crucifix that hung from her neck, a gift from her beloved and lost husband so many years ago.

Many friends and family had shown for the funeral, to pay their respects and look upon her one last time. To pass secrets they never had the courage to reveal until now, hoping somewhere in Heaven she was watching them, understanding, forgiving and at peace. Though the corpse did not smile, Amelia's face was certainly tranquil enough. His daughter was there, too, young Claire in her black dress and fancy shoes daddy bought her for church, and in essence, she was there at least physically. Claire had kept her silence, but her red, puffy eyes betrayed her stoic expression.

Jimmy didn't see any of this. What he did see was the mourners, priest and his technically orphaned daughter getting into their cars after the burial ceremony and returning to life outside the gates of the deceased. Though Jimmy wanted to be there for the funeral, wanted to sweep Claire in his arms and let her sob into his shoulder, stroke her hair and whisper that everything was going to be fine, mommy is in Heaven and daddy will always be here, he knows damn well he cannot. To do so would only cause trouble, chaos and more tragedy.

That, and he simply wasn't allowed to.

Castiel, weak and sluggish as he had been for weeks now, had been more quiet than usual when he told Jimmy he could be alone with his wife, or at least with her remains, as long as it was private. That included himself, and it was painful for them both when Castiel forced himself free, disappearing to give Jimmy the time to grieve. He didn't thank Castiel, because there was no reason to be grateful.

Jimmy couldn't remember the details of Amelia's death. It was not a demon or sadistic angel's doing, not by the scythe of a hand Castiel promised to hold back if his family had been targeted. Something natural, something that blindsided them both. Jimmy had not fathomed a reaction, remained quiet in the aftershocks, and only heard half of what Castiel was telling him. All he knew was his wife was dead, his daughter was without a mother and father and the angel was going to do him a Goddamn "favor" by loaning him back his own body so he could have a few moments to mourn in personal silence.

Dean and Sam had accompanied Jimmy, and he knew it was to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. They held him back with logic, reasoning and for the sake of his poor daughter's shattered mind from running out and joining the others. But as soon as the cars had left the cemetery, Jimmy emerged from the bushes, and the brothers let him-_let him_!-do as he pleased.

Jimmy had abandoned his trenchcoat. It was a warm spring afternoon, the type where flowers were blooming, birds were singing and children were laughing. The type families used for picnics and vacations and barbecues. And it sickened him because his wife was dead, slowly decaying in the ground, and it wasn't dark and gloomy, pissing rain and thunder and gloom like it was suppose to. Instead the world just kept happily spinning, and it was in that instant as he climbed the hill, still warm in his suit alone, that he realized just how insignificant humans really were.

The dirt was still fresh and upturned, a clear 8x4 square patch of black and brown made with precision amidst a small field of clean green grass. It felt almost as morbid as the tombstone planted there, like a crow in a flock of doves. Flowers helped to brighten up the area, to bring its tragic simplicity to a brighter light, pots of them gathered like sheep around the marble headstone declaring the one who rested beneath it. Their birthdate, their death date, and "mother and wife loved by God." A cross mimicking streaks of light had been set between the name and dates, gold in color but not in caliber.

Oh, God, it was almost hilarious. The sermon the priest read, the cross on her neck and on her gravestone, the idea of God loving her but not enough to save her. And Jimmy was no idiot-he knew mortality, he knew everyone passed on, and God did not think less of them even if their time was short or painful or both. Yet perhaps it was selfish of him (_bullshit_) to think that maybe, just _maybe_ God could spare Amelia a few more years since Jimmy, you know, risked everything to obey Him and the angel He apparently thought very little of.

At least let her live long enough for his return, or when Claire was mature enough to accept death as an adult, not a naive child whose father ran away for a Big Man In The Sky she had never met nor understood. At least some deadbeat fathers would send their children a birthday card with petty cash once a year or two. God instead took her daddy from her and she was too young to really understand why. Not to say that Jimmy at this point could blame her, because, really, _why_?

Oh, right. Ask God a question, very rarely would you receive an answer. Especially when God had hit the road a long time ago.

Jimmy approached the tombstone, squatted before it. He idly brushed a few specks of dirt from the corners, arranged the flowers that bowed their heads so they could look to the sky. Maybe it was better if they stared back to the mud; it was about just as dark and messy. He crossed his arms over his bent knees, and let himself swallow in everything around him, from nature herself to the own tense thrumming in the pit of his belly.

He allowed Dean to stand behind him for two, three minutes before finally acknowledging his presence. Jimmy smirked lopsidedly, kept his blue eyes on the marble stone below. "When Claire was just a tiny thing, only a few years old and learning to put together full sentences, I taught her a poem to recite, even sing when she felt bad or sad. A little pick me up reminder that the pain she felt was temporary, because the world was good, it wasn't going to bring her down for too long," he explained calmly. "Maybe you've heard it? _Pippa's Song_, Robert Browning."

Jimmy remembered it well, the first time he heard Claire sing it to him one day, when a storm had been pissing down cats and dogs, and left everyone in rather bad, grumpy spirits. He had been assigned the task to walk Claire to school, freezing still in his big black coat, head nested deep in his giant collar, hands shoved into his pockets.

Claire had knew all morning daddy had been in a foul mood, not from just the weather, but work as well, and she said to him, suddenly, "Papa, don't be sad!" and in her pigtails and pink raincoat and Hello Kitty boots she swung her umbrella above her head and flounced in the giant puddles and sang like a beam of warm sunshine in the dark skies,

"The year's at the spring,  
And day's at the morn;  
Morning's at seven;  
The hill-side's dew-pearl'd;  
The lark's on the wing;  
The snail's on the thorn;  
God's in His heaven—  
All's right with the world!"

The memory faded into a smear of filth and mockery that insulted Jimmy with its blind optimism and hope. "After I finished the poem the first time I told her," he continued, palms together, "I said, 'as long as God is with us, everything will be all right.'"

Dean didn't say a thing, but Jimmy did not know just how much he empathized. "It's really funny, though, and I always believed I was a modest man," he explained and stood straight. He kept his back to the hunter, arms crossing over his chest. "Because I had faith did not mean I wasn't going to be surprised or shocked at what I would see when I died. It would be awe-inspiring to anyone, because as much as I believe Heaven and angels and God exist, I'm only a mere mortal. I can be completely confident in any and everything, and yet still be blown away by what I would see."

Jimmy turned and looked at Dean, and a small smile was tugged on his face. He knew Dean knew what this smile was-a calm before the storm. And he wore it like it was going to be the storm of the century. "'Now I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away.' Revelation 21:1. I believed when the end of the world came, it meant God would take His people away to a whole new world, and abandon this one of sin. So I believed if I was good enough, and if I was let into Heaven, I would leave this world behind with God as well. So inside, I always knew there would be a time when God would have turned His back to this world."

Jimmy laughed, hollow, much too loud. "And yet, as I said, even if I saw it coming, it still hit me like a bus load of _fucking_ bricks," he chortled and rammed the heel of his palm into his free hand for emphasis. Dean kept quiet, respectfully, a strong frown on his blank face. "Why should I be angry if God decided that _now_ He's going to abandon me? Maybe I fucked up somewhere, maybe I was not one of the handful that were chosen, maybe my death was to come _after_ Earth would be orphaned from its Father?" He took a deep breath, spun playfully on a heel to look back to his wife's grave. "And yet I am angry," he said, paused, squinted an eye, "no, no, wait-more like _FUCKING CHEATED_!"

Jimmy wrenched back around to face Dean, storming closer with hatred in his eyes, burning at magma high intensity. His expression, once so boyish and curious, naive and hopeful, now twisted in disgust and rage. "I don't know if I ever hoped to win a spot in God's precious Heaven when I threw my body at Castiel," he snarled, "but I had expected my family would not suffer, would be protected during these times. It seemed a fair Goddamn trade to me! I abandon my family to do the work of the Lord! You'd think God would relate!" Jimmy cackled. "I mean, with how many fucking times He's turned on His family and disowned them time and fucking time again!"

"I'm not going to disagree with you regarding God, or whatever serves as Him," Dean finally spoke, voice almost a croak, but firm, "but your wife's death-you can't blame Castiel. Her death did not fall-"

"-'under our contract'? Is that what you're going to say?" Jimmy spewed venomously. "That sounds almost demonic when you think about it, huh?" He was laughing again, all his teeth showing from his wide grin. "No, Castiel and any related forces were not what killed my wife. Completely natural, was probably her time, et fucking cetera. And perhaps maybe I didn't read the very fine print when I let him completely demolish my life so he could chase a ghost, but I thought perhaps, just _perhaps_, he could have let her survive long enough to watch her child grow and be reunited with the whole of her family."

Dean snorted. "Well, Jagger and Richards said it best," he replied, "'you can't always get what you want.'"

Jimmy smiled back. "It's almost hard not to laugh despite how you're comparing all this to a Rolling Stones song, really it is," he smirked. "I don't know you well, or very much at all, Dean, but maybe that's how you handle your tragedies."

"Some quote classic rock lyrics to get by," Dean replied, shrugged, "some quote crap from the Bible."

"I suppose you have a point," Jimmy agreed, but that didn't lessen any of the fury in his blue eyes. "In the beginning, I had true faith in God and His choirs, and I believed by helping Him and His servants, I could herald in a better, purer and peaceful world for my wife and child. I would do anything to have them see the day when paradise was joined with Earth, even if it meant my own life. But now..."

He threw open his arms, gesturing to the miles of gravestones and tombs around him. "Maybe it's for the best she's dead. Maybe death is about the only good thing to come out of all this." Jimmy snickered and gave his finger a quirky wag, "But then again, if God's gone, who's to say Heaven's still around, too? What's my wife doing, I wonder? Is she wandering in a void where the celestial paradise once was? Or, Hell, maybe an angel found her and is somehow screwing her over as one would expect of Satan instead? I knew angels were not all rainbows and snowflakes and sunshine and giggles, but who'd have thought most of them were selfish, underhanded dicks?" He gave a big frown, shrugged, looking, acting as if these were all common, unimportant questions.

Dean sneered. "Heaven's still floatin'," he assured, "you can trust me on that one."

"Why do I find that hard to believe?" Jimmy retorted. He shrugged again, clapped his hands together and approached the gravestone. "Trust, hope, it's all pills we take to make us think positive." He squatted again to Amelia's headstone, gently caressing a hand along the cold surface. "I wonder if she died believing things would get better? As blind and ignorant as it is, God, I hope she did. I hope she died believing everything would be okay, not with me, but with the world and the future of her daughter."

Dean glanced away, caught Sam leaning against the Impala. He was patiently waiting, head bowed and hands in his pockets. "I'll leave you alone," Dean said quietly, "but we have to get back on the road before it gets dark."

"I'm not going."

Dean had meant to carry on back to his brother, but stopped and slowly turned. "Excuse me?"

Jimmy had stood, kept his head bowed and back towards Dean and the sun. "You heard me," he replied, voice soft but grave, almost like Castiel's, "I'm not going back." He finally rose his head and eyes to Dean, and they were firm in his decision. "I've done my part. Castiel's as good as fallen. If he wants to keep battling a losing fight, he can find another vessel."

Dean blinked, brows furrowing in irritation. "Wait, wait," he said, raising a hand, "you think you can just... walk away from all of this?"

"I can," Jimmy insisted, "I was never there, remember only fragments. Castiel can't, but I can." With that, he turned back to Amelia's-

Dean snatched him tightly by the arm. "You can't just-!"

"The Hell are you to make my decisions for me!" Jimmy snarled and ripped his arm free. "I've lived my life bowing and kissing the ass of a man who gave me nothing for my services in return! I didn't ask for much, but I had hoped for _something_ more than THIS"-he spread his arms, wide and angry-"if I handed my whole self over at His disposal! I budged a mile, at least I hoped to get a goddamn inch!"

"You think you're the only one God's screwed over!" Dean hissed. "If you want, I can tell you a thing or two about tragedies. Hell, once I'm done covering Sam's and my ass alone, I'll give you a fucking _list_ of people who would like to have a word with God!"

"Your brother is all you have left," Jimmy growled, "and Claire is all I have. You and I are alike in this much." He moved in closer, nearly getting into the hunter's face. "Yet as much as you doubt or question your brother's loyalty, you know he loves and cares for you, and you believe in him, and when you're hurt or angry or sad, you can turn to him and he'll accept you, because you're all he's got. And then you feel better because you have at least one shoulder to cry on." His eyes turned to slits now, and Dean was glaring equally with him.

"I don't care if I wander this Godless world miserable, but my daughter-who will she turn to when she's hurt or angry or sad? What shoulder does she have left to cry on? You can tell me relatives or whomever takes her in, but you can't tell me it would be the same. Find a lover or friend and try to rest your head and thoughts on them like your brother and see if it feels the same. Once someone important you loved is lost and gone, that void remains and it cannot be filled by anyone else."

Dean watched as Jimmy's eyes watered. "My little girl doesn't deserve that," he said hoarsely, "like she didn't deserve my walking out on her and her mother, and her mother soon to follow, to join with what she thinks now is some place better. Yes, some place better," he sneered darkly, "instead of by her daughter's side; some place better infuckingdeed."

Dean sized him up, then gave his head a small shake. "I feel for you, don't get me wrong," he assured, "but welcome to reality." His words were harsh, and biting, but Jimmy did not falter. "If this happened, and if you were ignorant, would you still be talking, feeling like this? No, you'd tell your daughter her mom's up playin' harps and hopscotch with the cherubs and believe it was her time. Because you didn't know that God hasn't given a _shit_ for eons. So now you know the truth and you're bitter?" He leaned forward, nose to nose with the older man. "Again, welcome to the world. Now that you've woken up, drink your coffee and get ready for another goddamn day. Cause God or no God, one day Claire was gonna lose you and her mom and she'd have to deal. Circumstances were Hell, maybe too soon, but she's not the only one whose been cheated out of a great life."

Jimmy couldn't deny some truth in Dean's words. He turned his head away, between smiling and clenching his teeth. "In the end, we both agree, it doesn't seem to matter," he mumbled and stepped away, finally breaking the heat between them. "We're both angry. That's been established. But I've done my part, and I'm punching out." He walked away, just a few steps, before turning back to Dean. "Claire needs me. And I need her."

"Walking suddenly back into your daughter's life right now might not be the best of ideas," Dean added.

Jimmy chortled. "We'll take it slowly. But like you said, 'that's life.' Tough. We'll get through it together."

"It's not as easy as walking away like this, Jimmy," Dean said and followed him down the hill, "you're in too deep just to throw the towel in now."

"What you need is Castiel, not me. There's plenty of humans around; he can afford to be picky."

"What Castiel needs is _you_," Dean scowled. Jimmy stopped, letting the hunter move ahead and in front of him. "You may not think very highly of the guy right now, and Hell I can't blame you. But he's alone now, too. He's lost pretty much all his faith like you, and when the war is over, if he's left standing, he's got no one to turn to, unlike you."

Jimmy cast him a cold glare. "He has you," he said, and Dean recoiled slightly, "you and your brother. He has you both. Don't tell me he's alone in this battle, because I've shared the thoughts and emotions with that angel long enough to know how he feels about you both. About you, specifically."

Dean ignored that bit. "It's not the same, just as you said," he insisted, "he needs you, _you_ were the one of billions he came to-"

"Perhaps _he_ doesn't need me, but _you_ do," Jimmy interjected. The shocked reaction he earned from Dean was priceless. Jimmy couldn't help but smirk, though there was no amusement. "I know how you feel about Castiel, and I know how Castiel feels about you," he continued. Dean swallowed a tight lump in his throat, but stood his ground.

"I know the feelings you both harbor. And without even my saying, he has come to me and assured me nothing will come of it. He doesn't seem to think you value him as much as I believe you do. But he assured me he won't let anything happen, won't consummate his affection for you, won't even allow himself to fantasize. Because it creates and involves physical stimuli, and he recognizes my body is not his own, and to use it for sex would be an insult to both himself, myself and God's 14th commandment, which, by the way, is now the least important of the three."

"That has nothing to do with it," Dean stated, "and if you want to blame anyone messing around with your body, blame me. It was I who insisted he get himself a goddamn lay before he died a virgin."

"In a perverse way, that's almost noble, and I have some recollection with allowing it," Jimmy replied. "But I do also recall he never went through with it. So he's not had any sort of sexual relations while wearing my flesh. But..." He squinted an eye, and one corner of his grin rose higher, "Cas's pretty much got a front row seat to the downward spiral. At this point, my body's more baggage than a temple to him. So that means in due time, Castiel will be careless and thoughtless enough to confess his feelings to you-even though, well, surprise-"

Dean clenched his teeth. "Stop," he warned, voice tight.

"And then maybe, just maybe, after that and after I've apparently put up the white flag," Jimmy continued, pouring salt into the fresh wounds; he moved deathly close to Dean, almost face to face again, "you two can finally fuck and not give a damn who you're using in the process."

Dean didn't miss a beat. It happened in a flash, his fist connecting with Jimmy's jaw. Jimmy's head snapped to the side, neck giving a low _crack_ and he stumbled backwards. Dean was glad Sam couldn't seem them at their current position, because he certainly needed to get this out. Jimmy finally stilled, swaying slightly as he touched his bruised jaw and torn lip, tasting the bitter copper of blood in his mouth.

"I've done some damn awful shit in my life, and Cas certainly ain't innocent," Dean snarled, hand still fisted, his knuckles purple, white and red, "but we're not this degenerate scum you think we are. And the last thing I need right now is to be insulted by a pitiful man wallowing in his own self loathing and grief."

Jimmy inhaled, rolled his jaw around until everything was back in place. He calmly strode forward, before striking Dean upside his head, right at the corner of his eye. Dean fell back but was quick to regain balance. "I only wanted my family to be safe!" Jimmy cried, lunging at him again. He swung, but missed, and Dean dove aside. "Castiel promised he would protect them! That's all I asked of him! Now my wife is dead, my daughter is alone and I'm a hollow husk, now just a mere _possession_ living so you and the fucking angel can singlehandedly save the world all ready half flushed down the toilet!"

When he threw another punch for the third time, Dean caught it, forcing Jimmy's arm stretched and still across his chest and away. He snatched his free hand before it could push him off, and Jimmy grunted when he was slammed into the back of a tree. "You can think what you want," Dean panted, a perfect shiner blooming over his right eye. He held Jimmy's hands tightly, face to face, hot air exchanged between their parted lips. "But your daughter believed her father left her to save the world and make it better for her. She accepted that. Even if you don't succeed, you'd die trying, and she'd accept that, too."

Jimmy heaved, glaring, teeth biting together. Dean did not drop his gaze, intensely weakening Jimmy's own. "You turn back now, you take your daughter and you run and hide away in a hole like frightened mice. And when the end of the world comes, you'll die ignorant cowards and if it doesn't because like _Hell I'll let it_, you're going to have a lot of fucking pie on your face when you emerge and see how you chickened out and ran away."

Jimmy swallowed loudly. "I can't just leave again..."

"Claire is a strong kid. She's going to be fine. She's got people who will love and care for her," Dean explained, still squeezing Jimmy's wrists, "and she's going to wait for you, just as she has been for a while now. And even if you never come back, she'll know you died to save her, and she'll only love you more."

The levee broke, and then Jimmy dropped his head forward, letting the trapped tears cut down his cheeks. "She's not suppose to wait for her father. She's not suppose to handle this weight. She's suppose to be a little girl doing little girl things," he gulped, letting the tears flow. Dean carefully drew back his hands, letting Jimmy press them to his face. "I don't care about me, but her-she's too young, she can't... Castiel can't let _her_ follow Amelia..."

"She'll be fine," Dean said, and he didn't know if he was lying or not. Nobody was safe at this point. Jimmy knew that well, but accepted the sentiment.

"I just want to hold her right now, tell her I love her, show her I love her. I wanted to be there with Amelia when she died, beside her, with her, I don't _care_, as long as she saw I was there and loved her and Heaven, Hell or oblivion, she'd always have that-still, still has that," Jimmy sobbed, running a hand ragged through his hair, "I didn't ask or want much..."

Dean didn't know what to say. Everything had been spoken. For a moment, he wasn't seeing Castiel's face red and sticky and pale with tears and pain, but Jimmy's. Yet he dropped his forehead to his, just as he dreamed of doing to Castiel in those times where all the angel wanted to do was fold and break down. No words could help, mend or fix this pain, and time didn't heal all wounds, just made scars of them. So Jimmy choked on quiet sobs and let his forehead rest to Dean's in return.

In that moment, Jimmy recalled in his mind something he read as a small boy, doe eyed and sitting in the front pew of church and listening to his priest preach.

_Revelations 7:4 - And I heard the number of those who were sealed. One hundred and forty-four thousand of all the tribes of the children of Israel were sealed._

All he wanted was Amelia and Claire to be two of them.

And yet, he knew all too well, perhaps, you can't always get what you want.

_But if you try sometimes..._

"For a mere moment I have forsaken you,  
But with great mercies I will gather you.  
With a little wrath I hid My face from you for a moment;  
But with everlasting kindness I will have mercy on you,"  
Says the LORD, your Redeemer.  
- Isaiah 54:7-8

END

**A/N**:  
**Amelia's death**: Up to the reader's decision. But she wasn't killed by supernatural forces.  
**Title's meaning**: Matthew 7:13-14 - "Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it."

I KNEW READING THE BIBLE WOULD COME IN HANDY.


End file.
